Zodiac
by Alex Amari
Summary: Dahlia Jehan is new to the chaos of the Police Academy, so when she is set to capture the Zodiac killer, she finds help in an unexpected place. Please Read and Review!
1. Prologue

The man settled into his seat as the concert began. A local group of young thespians were putting on a talent show of sorts, and the advertisement had piqued the doctor's interest. As the curtain rose, the doctor Hannibal Lecter smiled. He suffered through the mediocre performances of the first few acts with great difficulty. He was just wondering which wine to drink while dining on the cellist that had just finished butchering one of Bach's suites when the next act came on stage.

She wore a modest white dress that clung closely to her slender frame until it reached her waist, where it flowed freely to the floor. Her dark, straight hair flowed loosely to her shoulders, and he thought in passing that the texture didn't suit her. Her appearance intrigued him, and he was telling himself that she was too scrawny to make a good meal out of when she opened her mouth to sing.

He sat up straighter in his seat, attentive. She was quite talented. 'Of course,' he mused. 'She could use a few vocal lessons, but she has raw talent, and that's hard to come by.' She continued to sing, the initial softness of her voice melting away with every word she sang. He checked the program that he had taken absently on his way in. "Lullaby—Dahlia Jehan." He read aloud. She had a strange beauty about her—not one of physical beauty, (while she was pretty, she wasn't the most stunning that he'd seen) But an aura of kindness, a naivety that gave her a beauty all her own. "Like a siren from The Odyssey." The psychiatrist chuckled darkly at his joke. '

Her song ended and the auditorium erupted into applause. It didn't seem long until the performance ended, and Dr. Lecter stood and went to the performers, who were in the main hall, talking to the audience. He entered the room just as a classmate (he assumed, she struck him as the type to still be in school) was asking the girl a question.

"Dahlia, are you _really _going to a police academy?"

She smiled. "Chelsea, I told you, I'm just gonna be there full time. I'm not going away forever."

The younger girl looked up at her with sad eyes. "But who will help me with my trigonometry homework?"

Her laugh was light. "I'll still have my phone on me, you can always call. And," Here she lowered her voice. "You can just fax me a copy of your homework, I'll work it out, send it back, and you can copy, all right?" This earned a hug from the student.

Hannibal smiled. Taking the opportunity to approach her, he smiled charmingly, already knowing just what to say.

Dahlia looked up from the embrace of her friend to see an older man walk up. 'No,' she corrected herself. 'It's his eyes that look old, wise beyond their years.' He smiled and she was struck by how handsome he was.

"I loved your performance, miss…?" He asked, extending his hand.

"Um, thank you…Dahlia Jehan. And you are?" she took his hand and he brought it to his lips.

"Just call me Dr. Lecter. Everyone else does. Has anyone told you what an enchanting voice you have?"

She let out a nervous laugh. "You'd be the first. I didn't think I was all that good, though…"

"Quite the contrary, my dear, you were spectacular. You really shouldn't be so hard on yourself."

She felt her face heat up. He still hadn't let go of her hand. "T-thank you, Dr. Lecter."

His smile widened, showing off small, white teeth. "I'm afraid I must go, but I'm sure we'll meet again. Until then, Miss Jehan, and may you have a safe way home." He kissed her hand once more and left, almost unnoticeable to the crowd standing in the theater's foyer.

"Dude, was that doctor guy just hitting on you?" Chelsea asked.

"I-I don't know…" Dahlia shook her head, attempting to clear it. "But I gotta get home. See you later, guys."

Hannibal watched her leave from a safe distance across the street. He didn't quite know why this girl intrigued him so, but he was sure it would pass just as his infatuation with Clarice Starling had. He just had to let it run its course. She got on a bicycle nearby, (the skirt of the dress was long enough to allow bike riding without any embarrassing incidents) and rode off, humming to herself.

He allowed himself a brief smile. 'Little siren, indeed…' he mused. As she rode, he decided to follow her, just to see what sort of residence she called home. 'Besides,' He told himself. 'I want to see what this "Police academy" business is about.' His walking was much slower than her bike, but he tracked her efficiently to a small apartment several blocks away. By the time he got to the ground-floor flat, she was on the phone. Her open window allowed him to listen in with ease.

"Mom, I _told_ you. I need to do this. It's my dream. -Well, you need money to go to New York, Mom, and you didn't approve of_ that_ dream, either! I don't care how much you hate Broadway! -Mom, you're not gonna ruin this. I've finally found something I'm good at. -I like this, do I need any other reason? -I don't care. I'm going and that's final. I'm twenty-three years old, Mom; I'm old enough to make my own decisions! -I don't care! If you're going to be that way, I'm not going to come home!" She hung up the phone, throwing it on the bed with a frustrated cry. "I wish she'd just fuckin' _listen_ to me!" She growled. She sat on the bed and put her head in her hands, her shoulders shaking with sobs. Hannibal felt a twinge in his chest area, but blamed it on that night's dinner.

Suddenly, she stood, scrubbing the tears from her face. "Stop it, Dahlia." She said aloud. "This is why you're leaving. You need to man up if you want to be a successful detective, remember? Just pack and forget all about it." Now determined, she went to pack a half-full suitcase resting on her bed."

The man outside mulled over this new information. "A detective, hmm? Very interesting…" he muttered. He watched as she finished packing and went to the nearest bus stop, luckily catching a bus just before it left. He stood outside for a few moments longer, deep in thought. At last, he smiled, knowing his plan.

"Well, my little siren," He said turning to leave. "I'll see you around."


	2. Chapter 1

"Dahlia. Dahliaaaa….." A female voice said, intruding on her dream.

Sleep interrupted, Dahlia groaned.

"Get up. Mr. Crawford is coming, come on!"

She sat up from her spot amidst a pile of books in the library of the police academy. She blinked several times, hoping that her contacts were still in place on her eyes. Luckily, they were, and she looked at her roommate, Robyn, with a glare. "Oh, he _better_ be coming this time…" she grumbled.

Sure enough, a tall man walked by and motioned for her to follow. She followed him into his office; somehow feeling underdressed in front of the Academy's leader. He wore a clean-pressed suit and tie, while she wore only a t-shirt and sweat pants. Her brown hair was messy, pulled back into a ponytail. She looked at her sneakers guiltily. The only reason that she'd been sleeping in the first place was that she had stayed up the night before researching the most infamous criminals for an upcoming test. She opened her mouth to explain herself, but he motioned for her to keep quiet.

"Miss Jehan, what do you know about the Zodiac killer?" The question startled her. She racked her memory. "Um, they choose their victims according to what Zodiac sign they have and what time the constellation can be seen in the sky. No one knows how they know the victims' signs, and none of the victims have any sort of correlation between them." She had just finished reading about them, why would he ask? As if he read her mind, he handed her a file. She flipped through, finding information on various victims, all killed by someone with the same M.O. Her eyes widened as she read the evidence.

"An odd tribal symbol carved into the right heel…" she muttered.

"And they were all killed according to their zodiac signs." Crawford nodded, his frown deepening. "It's either a copycat, or he's back. We need you to find out."

She raised an eyebrow, wondering if it was all a joke. "Me…?"

"You're the top of your class, and the most advanced in your age group. I'm sure you can figure something out." He handed her a slip of paper with an address in his blocky lettering. "Start with the morgue, work your way from there."

She nodded and turned to leave, but something caught her eye. A wanted poster with a man's mug shot on it. She recognized the face instantly. "Dr. Lecter…" she muttered.

"Yes, he's still on the most wanted list, after all these years." Mr. Crawford replied.

"What?" She turned to face him, snapping from the memory of the man she had met.

"Yes, haven't you heard? The psychiatrist, Hannibal Lecter. Some students call him 'Hannibal the Cannibal' as a joke."

She had heard of him many times, but never made the connection between the murderer and the charming man at her theater performance. Shaking her head, she made her leave, going to her room to shower, change, and go to a nearby coffeehouse to think things over.

The case file lay open before her, and she sighed. "What do I do? I barely know what I'm doing and they set me to this?" She buried her face in her hands, feeling a headache coming on.

"The first thing to do in any situation is always to assess the matter at hand and then pick the most logical path." A familiar voice replied.

She looked up to see Hannibal Lecter himself, a smile on his face. "I-it's you." She stated gracelessly. He gave a small bow and invited himself to sit at her table, outside the shop and far away from other patrons. "Yes, quite the coincidence, don't you think?"

"I was taught that there were no coincidences." She replied, instantly on the defense.

"True, very true. And how have you been lately, Miss Jehan?"

She gave him a suspicious glare. "Not bad. And you, Doctor? There's a few good stories about Hannibal the Cannibal at the Academy. Care to share?"

His smile faded on the instant, revealing a frightening scowl. "How much do you pretend to know about me, Miss Jehan?" His maroon eyes pierced her brown ones, and she knew she was over her head. Bad move. He spoke once more.

"You may not know much about me, Miss Jehan, but I know quite a few things about you. I know that five years ago, when you were eighteen, you tried to run away to New York City to be an actress on Broadway, but the night before you were to leave, your policeman father, William Jehan, was killed trying to retrieve a hostage from a robbery at the local bank. You assumed that it was God's way of telling you that your destiny lay elsewhere. Two months ago, you packed your bags and left to come here to the police academy. Now, you're trying to achieve your new dream of being a police detective, possibly trying in some twisted way to avenge your father's death. I also know that you used to wear glasses, but you switched to contact lenses when you were sixteen because they reminded you of the acne problem you had from the fifth grade until your freshman year of high school. It cleared up sophomore year, and you'd like to keep it that way. Have I proven myself, or do I need to continue?"

She remained silent, thunderstruck. "H-how…?" she breathed at last.

His smile returned, no trace of his previous animosity left. "I have my sources. Are you going to call your superiors, turn me in?"

She shook her head before she could register the movement. "No… You can help me with my case."

The smile widened, one eyebrow raising in curiosity. "Yes, I have the ability to help you, but the true question is; will you accept help from a 'murderer'?"

Almost against her better judgment, she nodded once more.

"Good. Now, where were you told to begin?" He settled more comfortably in his chair, as if this were a completely normal visit between friends.

She pulled out the slip of paper and showed it to him. He frowned and made a small annoyed noise deep in his throat. "First, don't start with the bodies, you need to go to the families, shed a bit of light on the connections, if there are any. The parents are notorious about keeping crucial information hidden until the last possible moment."

"How do I get there?" Dahlia asked. "I can't afford a car, and I can hardly bike across the states, can I?"

He thought for a long moment, then started to search the pockets of his coat. For a moment, she thought that he would hand her change for a bus, but he pulled out a set of keys instead.

"Lucky for you, I have a car. I could drive you, if you trust me." His eyes pierced hers once more, sparks of red dancing toward his pupils, and she searched them for any foul play.

Not finding any, she nodded. "All right, fine."

He stood, holding out his hand. "Best get started right away, then, shall we?" She gathered her papers and took his hand, letting him help her up. As they walked to his car, he subtly looked her over. She wore a black turtleneck sweater, made of a lighter, clingy fabric so that it hugged her curves without being skin-tight. With those, she had on a pair of dark jeans and ballet-type black flats. Her hair was loose, and a little damp. He smiled as he realized that this wavy, curly texture must have been how it naturally fell. He began to laugh softly despite himself.

"What's so funny?" she asked, looking up at him.

"Oh nothing, just an assumption that I just proved correct." She gave him a puzzled look, but he would say no more on the subject.

They approached the sleek black Volvo and the taller man held the passenger door open for her. She slid into the leather seat and he gracefully swung his frame into the seat on the other side, turning the ignition. He glanced at the paper that he had taken out of the file without her noticing and left the parking lot.

"So what's the plan?" she had to ask.

"You go into the house, ask the normal questions, and try to get as much information out of them as you can."

"And what will you do?"

He shrugged. "Wait in the car; maybe get a little business of my own done while I'm at it. Too many people know my face for me to be safe in broad daylight."

She thought that over for a moment, realizing just how much of a risk he took in finding her. "Why did you find me if you were in so much danger?"

A small smile played on his lips. "If I help you, you can help me. I'll ask you my favor when we get done with this interrogation." She nodded, wondering what on earth he would ask.

He drove onto the highway, and Dahlia briefly wondered what she'd gotten herself into. The thought quickly faded, though. Strangely, even though she was in the car with a known murderer, she didn't feel as if she were in any danger. In fact, as she looked out of the window at the passing countryside, she felt herself drifting off and welcomed the release of sleep.

Hannibal glanced at his young passenger while at a red light and found, much to his surprise, that she had fallen asleep. He watched her chest rise and fall in a steady rhythm, her breath fluttering the hair that had fallen in front of her face. He gently moved the offending lock of hair back behind her ear, then as an afterthought, grabbed a spare coat from the backseat and moved it over her. She relaxed, burying her face into the fabric of the jacket. He allowed himself a small smile and returned his eyes to the road. It would be another four hours or so before they reached their destination, so he decided to let her sleep. She had a long day ahead of her when she woke up.


	3. Chapter 2

A/N: Just doing a little editing here, I must have screwed up big-time. And a note to those that dislike OCs, (Why you'd be reading up to this point is beyond me) I ship ClariceHanibal like nothing else. I love it and have read it on this very site. This is just a passing idea that I'm running with. Please review, I live off of feedback and Pixy Stix!

Dahlia opened her eyes and stretched, letting out a loud yawn. It took a moment to register where she was, and another moment to register who she was with. "We there yet?" she asked, her voice groggy. Hannibal nodded and handed her a steaming cup. She caught the scent of Earl Grey tea as she took an experimental sip. Her assumption was correct. "You don't strike me as the coffee type, so I just got what I normally order." He explained. She smiled, the drink loosening her throat. "Good call. I always have a box on hand at the Academy." She drank the tea gratefully as her companion read a newspaper that told her that they were in Oregon. 'The first family…the parents and brother of Melissa Williams, if I remember correctly…' she mused. They were parked in front of a house across the street from a playground. She let her eyes wander, and she watched the children play on the swings. She laughed softly as she watched a little boy jump off from the highest point, only to land in the sand. His friends cheered him on.

"Feeling a little nostalgia, Miss Jehan?" A voice sounded by her ear. She jumped. She hadn't heard him get that close, but there he was, looking out at the playground as well. "Umm…I guess. I was just remembering a park that I used to play at when I was a kid. I'd try to see how high I could swing before jumping off." She smiled at the memory. "One time when I was about twelve, my friend Parker and I swung to the same height and jumped off at the same time. We didn't notice at the time, but we'd been swinging at an angle and when we jumped, we collided in midair and fell in a heap on the ground." "My, sounds painful." He commented, smiling as well. "She laughed. "Yeah, it hurt, but we were laughing too hard to notice. I was a clumsy kid anyway. I'd fall out of trees, crash my bike, trip on gravel, you name it, I've got the scars to prove it." He seemed surprised. "You seem graceful." "Tell that to my legs. They'll take me off of a cliff someday, I know it." She set the cup in a cup holder in the door and stretched once more. "Well, I'm gonna get this interview over with before I lose any and all of my confidence. If I'm not out in two hours, I've gotten myself in some sort of trouble." She smiled and got out of the car, taking a moment to stretch more luxuriously. This being done, she yawned and walked up to the house. Hannibal looked once more to the swing set and watched the children play. He daydreamed about what Dahlia would have been like as a twelve-year-old.

She walked up to the door and rang the doorbell. An elderly woman with a sad face answered. "Yes?" "Hello, Mrs. Williams? I'm from the Washington Police Department; I'm here to ask you a few questions about your daughter, Melissa." She nodded. "I knew you'd be here sooner or later. Come on in." She led the way into the house. She looked around, seeing pictures of Melissa with her parents and brother, sometimes separate, sometimes together. A boy a little younger than her sat on the couch, watching TV. "James, this nice girl is from the Washington police. She's going to ask us a few questions." The woman explained. He glared at Dahlia, and remained silent. She sighed softly. And she just _thought_ that they'd be cooperative…

After an hour and a half of asking questions, she got no farther than she'd been when she started. She thanked them for their time and left. She stepped outside and smiled as she saw Dr. Lecter, an obvious daydreaming look coming across his face. He looked up just as she misgauged where the step was, going into a spectacular nosedive and faceplanting into the concrete. He jumped and got out of the car, going over to her resting place and helping her up. "Are you all right, Miss Jehan? That looked painful." She stood, a little unstable on her feet, and looked at him with a smile. "I'm okay, don't worry. That's not the worst I've fallen off of, believe me." As she spoke, a small trickle of blood was visible, coming from her bruised nose. He sighed, pulling a red handkerchief from his pocket and pressing it to her nose. She jumped, confused, and he explained, "Your nose is bleeding." "Oh." Was all she replied. She took the handkerchief and held it to her nose. "Are you going to be okay?" He asked, concern in his voice. She nodded. "Like I said, I've gone through worse. It'll stop in a few minutes."

He led her back to the car and turned the key in the ignition. Nothing happened. He tried again. An awful grinding sound filled the car, then nothing once more. "What the Hell?" He said, surprising her with his sudden lack of patience. He went to the hood of the car, rolling up his sleeves and trying to find the source of the problem. She walked out, as well, and looked things over. Nothing seemed out of place. "Maybe it's the battery," She offered. He nodded. "That must be it." He replied. She had an idea. "Do you have any jumper cables?" She asked. He nodded. She looked over at a car that could only belong to Melissa's older brother. "I have an idea." She opened the hood of the car, grabbed Hannibal's jumper cables, and connected the two batteries. He raised an eyebrow. "Pardon me—" She stopped him. "I'm not done." She picked the lock to the door and slid into the driver's seat. She disappeared from view for a minute, then the engine roared to life. She reappeared with a triumphant smile, wiping the last of the blood from her face. She motioned for him to try the ignition again. After a few tries, the car started and he grinned. She turned the teen's car off and returned to the Volvo. "You never told me that you could hot-wire a car." He commented. She smiled. "You never asked. I took auto shop junior year and picked up a few things." He chuckled. "Well, I'm grateful for that." They drove into the next town and went to an auto store for a new battery. After he sent her in to get it, he replaced the old one and they were off once more.

They spent the rest of the day traveling across the area, going to the houses of the next four families. She looked at the file for the fifth time in the past twenty minutes. The sun had set a long time before, but she knew what she would see. Five families left. Not a single parent, friend or sibling could tell her anything that she didn't already know. She sighed, wondering if she'd ever find a break. She snapped back to herself as she felt the car stop. She looked up to see a hotel parking lot. "Huh?" "We need to stop for the night. Even I need my sleep upon occasion." Hannibal explained calmly. She nodded, getting one of her 'I should be scared' vibes. Strangely, though, she didn't feel scared at all. He went to the front desk as she parked the car. She walked into the hotel and the man at the desk gave her a room key, saying that he'd already paid for the room. '"Room", singular?' she mused. 'Oh,_ this_ will be interesting…' She opened the door to find her companion, sitting on the only bed in the room. "Umm…" she said, catching his attention. "I apologize for the inconvenience, but this is the only room left in the entire hotel. Christmas holidays, apparently." She thought for a moment. "It's not even Thanksgiving yet…" she muttered. "I know." He replied, the slightest hint of annoyance in his voice.

"Well, it's not all that bad," She said, searching the room. "The last time I was in a place like this, there was a roll-away bed right around…ah-ha!" She found the aforementioned bed, set it up, and flopped down on top of it. "Surely you're not thinking of sleeping on that thing, are you?" He asked, an almost shocked look on his face. "You can take the bed, I really don't mind." She said quickly. "I'm fine down here." He sighed. "Well, you can use some sleep-clothes, at least. You'll find them in the bathroom." She hadn't packed for an overnight trip, so she was surprised to find a button-down shirt and a pair of cotton pants on the bathroom counter. 'These must be his,' She realized, her face heating up. Pushing those thoughts aside, she put the oversized clothes on and returned to the room. "Thank you for letting me use…" She faded off. The lights were off and the bed was empty, but she saw a figure curled up on the roll-away. She walked closer, to see Dr. Lecter, fast asleep. He really looked his age when he was relaxed, she discovered. That fact made him look all the more handsome. A breeze came through the open window, and he shivered involuntarily. She got one of the blankets from the bed and threw it over his sleeping form, whispering, "Good night, Dr. Lecter." She crawled into the other bed and fell asleep almost on the instant. She didn't see the doctor's eyes open or hear him reply, "Good night, my little siren." But as he said the words, she smiled in her sleep.

There was a loud knock at the door, and Dahlia groaned. She got up out of bed (more like fell out of bed) and answered it to find a bellboy holding a gift basket. "Good morning, ma'am, oh behalf of the hotel, I'd like to apologize for the mix-up in rooms. Here," he handed her the basket. "And have a wonderful day." "Thanks, you too!" She called sweetly, not capable of being mad at the kid for waking her up. She returned to the room, where she heard a growl. "Bellboy…maybe with a side of risotto…and a brown butter sauce…." She smiled at the dark joke. "Don't eat the kid, he came bearing gifts. See?" He didn't move, but she heard, "Is there coffee?" She laughed and replied, "Supposedly gourmet coffee and tea. Plus various pastries, snack cakes and all kinds of junk food. Want any?" He sat up and she blushed. All he wore was a pair of pajama pants, showing off his thin but slightly muscular frame. He had a six-pack, she noticed, and that only made her blush harder. "I'll take the coffee, but no junk food for me. ….I might take a pastry, though." He added as an afterthought. She handed him a packet of the coffee and a croissant. "Have at it." She replied. He smiled humorously. "What?" she asked. "Your hair looks…interesting." He chuckled. Her eyes widened. 'Aw, crap.' She thought. Bed-head, nature's way of showing how ungraceful you are when you're asleep. She frowned. "You have it, too." She retorted. It was true. His dark hair (which normally rested complacently on his head, reaching down to his earlobes) was disheveled, sticking up in places that the younger girl hadn't thought possible. He raised a hand to the unruly locks, shrugging it off. "Oh, but yours looks so much cuter." He went to brew the coffee in the tiny coffee-maker in the surprisingly spacious bathroom as her face lit up once more.

Hannibal left the room to see about a "Proper breakfast" and Dahlia decided to take advantage of the awesome bathroom and took a shower. As the hot water helped relieve her stress, she thought her situation over. 'All right, I'm in a hotel in who-the-frick-knows-where with a known murderer. I've spent the night in the same hotel room as him, with no incident. The only comment on eating people he made was that joke with the kid, (I hope it was a joke) and he's been nothing but the greatest gentleman towards me. I have no reason to be scared of him, and rightfully, I'm not. …Mom would flip if she heard about this…' She laughed to herself and hummed a song to calm her nerves. At length, she began to sing.

"Here, a goddess of happiness cries,

An endless, timeless lullaby.

Sings a song of the dream she has,

A sadness fills her eyes.

End of love, love is gone,

No more dreams to dream about, so life is done.

If it's so, cut the thread,

It's time to let it go…

She wrapped up in a towel and returned to the room proper to get her clothes, when she saw her companion, sitting on the bed, smiling. "Pardon me, I was merely listening." He stated innocently. She muttered something like, "Noimsorryhereletmegetoutofyourwayilljustbegoingnow." (Translation: "No, I'm sorry, here let me get out of your way, I'll just be going now.") And left, grabbing her clothes and returning to the bathroom. "Now, Miss Jehan, you mustn't be so modest. I thought you were very good." He said amiably as she changed. "Well, you--you weren't supposed to—weren't you checking about breakfast?" She asked, still flustered. "Yes, but this hotel doesn't get enough funding to provide breakfast, which is bull because every room in here is full. We'll have to eat on the way to the first house of the day. " He heard a soft sigh. "All right. " She replied. He sensed disappointment in her voice. He knew that it wasn't the conditions for breakfast, so he assumed that it was the families. After returning from each house, (sometimes so deep in thought that she tripped twice more, though with far less gory results) her mood had worsened and worsened, and he sensed that she wasn't getting any farther than she had been when they started. He never asked how it went, but she was very good at putting on a cheerful face. 'Why won't you let me see under the mask, my siren?' He mused. 'You'd be a lot better off if you opened up.' She exited the bathroom, fully clothed, and for a moment, he saw a look of disappointment, sadness, and overall fatigue. She shut her dark eyes for a moment, rubbing her temples, then opened them once more, a cheerful look on her face. He was certain that she was wondering why she was so tired, but then again, only he knew.

Quite late the night before, he'd woken up to a noise. He was instantly on the alert, and looked around. No threats in sight. The noise happened again, and he was able to decipher it clearly. A soft groan. He looked to the main bed, and knew that something was wrong. He stood and went to one side of the bed, to see Dahlia, asleep. Her brow was furrowed; an uneasy and almost frightened look on her face. She bit her lip so hard that it almost bled, and she let out another groan. 'A nightmare.' He knew. He knelt at the side of the bed, watching. Her hand was free from the confines of the comforter, and it roamed around the bed, searching for something to hold on to. He put his own hand in her line of investigation, and she took it, seeming to have the solace that she needed. He put his other hand over hers, gently running his fingers over the top of her hand. She relaxed, her face peaceful once more. He smiled gently at her sleeping form. Then he came back to himself. 'What the hell is happening to me?' he sighed. 'This definitely isn't the same as the Clarice incident. But what makes it different?' he thought back to the "Incident" and compared the two. He never spent this much time with Clarice, since he was imprisoned, but now he was on the world's most wanted list, but otherwise free. He'd really been able to observe and talk to Dahlia, get under her skin with more efficiency than having to do so in the time frame of a half-hour. Clarice was an obsession, something he wanted but couldn't have, that much he knew. So what was this? 'It's early in the game.' He reasoned. 'It's just not as advanced or near as extreme. That must be it.' He nodded, pleased with his answer, and returned to his vigil. After a while of watching over her, he decided that if the dream were to return, it would have done so by then and he returned to the roll-away bed to try to get back to sleep.

He was aware of a hand passing in front of his face, and he caught it without thinking. He focused on reality rather than memory, and found that he'd caught the very object of his musings by the wrist, apparently in the middle of trying to get his attention. He only had his middle finger and his thumb looped around her thin wrist in a careless grasp; she could have broken free if she tried. But something about the situation had caused her to look into his eyes, and there she was trapped. He wasn't quite sure what to do or say for once, so he only stared back. They stood like that for what felt like a lifetime, until the younger girl's cell phone rang. She jumped and took it out of her pocket, breaking his grip and their stare. She answered it, her face red. "Hello?" She suddenly held the phone away from her ear as a voice yelled quite legibly, "WHERE THE HELL ARE YOU, JEHAN?!?!?!?!?" She shakily answered. "Um, somewhere outside of the Washington state line…" "I DID NOT AUTHORIZE AN OVERNIGHT MISSION, I TOLD YOU TO GO TO THE MORGUE!!!!!" She had a very nervous look on her face. "W-well, to be honest, you only _suggested_ that I go to the morgue, and, thinking that over, something told me that I should go and interview the families instead…for what it's worth, this is on my own time…" "WELL, YOU BETTER BE GLAD YOU'RE OUT OF STATE, BECAUSE WE WILL HAVE A TALK ABOUT THIS WHEN YOU GET BACK!!!!!!!" There was a click and she hung up the phone, looking scared. "Oh, gosh, this is it. I'll be kicked out for sure. I won't be able to work on the case, I won't have anyplace to live, hah-ha, I'm so dead." He smiled at her and put a hand on her arm. "Don't worry, Miss Jehan, you won't meet such an untimely demise, I'll make sure of it." "R-really? And how do you propose to do that?" she asked innocently. He only smiled. "Let me take care of that. Now, let's get our things together and go out for breakfast."

They went to breakfast, and went off to the other five families. After the first four, Dahlia was certain that there wasn't anything connecting the victims. Then, she got a break. One mother thought she recognized one of the first victim's schoolmates from a coffee shop that her daughter went to often. It wasn't much, but it was something. She told Hannibal as such. He smiled. "See? I told you that your luck would change." She smiled as well. "Thank you, Dr. Lecter…for all this. You didn't have to do this, you know." "I know. It's no problem, Miss Jehan, not in the least. " He drove on, going in the direction of home. 'No,' she corrected herself. 'It's not home. I don't know what is, but that academy isn't any more of a home than my mother's house was.' He dropped her off a little ways outside the academy, "So there won't be a chance of anyone important seeing my face." He explained. She thanked him once more, and he took her hand in his. "Like I said, Miss Jehan, it's no problem. I was merely doing you a favor." "Well, at the very least, you can call me by my first name, if you want. To tell the truth, it's a little awkward being called 'Miss Jehan' by someone as important as you." She replied. He smiled. "Very well. We will see each other very soon, Miss Dahlia, I'm sure of it. Farewell." He released her hand and drove off, leaving the younger girl very confused. She opened the hand that he had caught to find a necklace, a simple ocean-blue teardrop pendant on a silver chain. With it was a note that read: "A souvenir of our time together. Best wishes, H." She smiled and slipped the necklace over her head. 'He's a mad genius, and confusing as hell, but he's really sweet if you can get him to let you see under his mask.' She thought. She walked down the street to the academy, humming "Lullaby" the whole way.


	4. Chapter 3

A/N: Whoo, it took a while for me to fix this! A few more edits are in order and we'll be back on track. Sorry for the slow upload time, but school is thoroughly kicking my butt and there's only a few weeks to go. I think I accidentally uploaded this chapter in place of the one before it, but it'll all be fixed in a little bit.

In regards to a reviewer's comment, (Which was much appreciated and thank you for your opinion :D ) I may be bothering people with the random song lyrics. I apologize of these arn't your cup of tea, but I'm a very music-oriented person and I'll listen to stuff to help me write. If they bother you, feel free to read around them, but if they become too much of an issue, I'll stop. Don't forget to review, I love feedback, good and bad!!

Three weeks later, Dahlia sat at her laptop and sighed. She'd been suspended for two months for her little "deviation" as Mr. Crawford called it. She'd stopped caring about her personal appearance since she'd come to the academy, so she sat at her desk in a tank top and jeans, her frizzy brown hair thrown up in a ponytail. The only thing different about her was the necklace that she rarely ever removed. She had been in a chat room with some of her old friends, trying not to research the new Zodiac killings, when a new person popped up.

Mischa'sMemory45: Hello again, Miss Dahlia.

She frowned. It couldn't be…could it?

KanauNara13: Is this who I think it is?

Mischa'sMemory45: Why, yes, it is. I admire your use of proper grammar; it's rare in these kinds of places.

KanauNara13: What are you doing here? And how did you find out my e-mail address?!

Mischa'sMemory45: I have my sources. :3

She sighed. Yep, it was him, all right. She typed the question that was on her mind.

KanauNara13: Who's Mischa?

Mischa'sMemory45: My younger sister. She died a long time ago. On another note, why did you choose that username in particular?

KanauNara13: It means "If dreams came true". It's a good song, you should look it up.

Mischa'sMemory45: I'll do that. How did your boss take the little road trip we had a while back?

KanauNara13: Badly. I got suspended for two months. It's killing me to not be able to work on the case. I've been researching it for the past two weeks, late at night. I'm so tired… T.T

Micha'sMemory45: Being an insomniac, are we?

KanauNara13: Don't get me wrong, I love sleep. It's one of my top three favorite pastimes. It just bugs me that, while I'm stuck sitting on my butt, more people are dying. I need to stop it.

Mischa'sMemory45: Interesting word choice. You were only suspended from working on the case _publicly_, there's no rule saying that you can't work on it in secret.

KanauNara13: Yeah, but what happens if they roommate's here brb.

She looked up to see Robyn walk in. "Who you talking to?" she asked, seeing her hide her computer screen. "Just someone from my old hometown. Nothing of great importance." She said quickly. Robyn rolled her eyes. "All right. Well, you and your old flame better keep it quiet, I'm going to sleep." With that, she flopped on the bed and spoke no more. Dahlia went back to her computer screen to find:

Mischa'sMemory45: Now, I'm almost disappointed in you, Miss Dahlia, you were doing quite well until that "brb" incident.

KanauNara13: Sorry, My roommate came in. What I meant to say was; how do I do that without them noticing?

Mischa'sMemory45: Easy. You go somewhere else. Go out into the field, and work in the middle of the storm. You're not next in the line of Zodiac signs, are you?

KanauNara13: Depends. Who's next in line?

Mischa'sMemory45: Aquarius.

KanauNara13: Don't worry, then.

He didn't type back for a while, and she assumed that he was deep in thought.

Mischa'sMemory45: ……You need your rest. You should get offline and get some sleep.

KanauNara13: With Robyn's snoring? Fat chance.

Mischa'sMemory45: Just try. You'd be surprised what you can sleep through. Expect the unexpected, Miss Dahlia. Goodnight.

KanauNara13: All right? Goodnight, sleep well.

She logged off, confused. 'What could he have meant by that?' she wondered. She was about to go to the internet, but stopped herself. "Maybe I should get some sleep…" she muttered to herself. She shut the computer off and crawled into bed. Dr. Lecter was right, she found. It _was_ surprising to see how much she could sleep through.

She woke up the next morning to hear an annoying voice saying; "You've got mail. You've got mail. You've got mail. You've got—" she interrupted it. "Robyn, what the hell are you _doing?!" _She opened her eyes to see her roommate hovering over her bed. "Well, you do have mail. I saw that something was in your inbox when I got up to shower. It's from a mischa'…" She bolted out of bed. "You didn't read it, did you?!" she went to her laptop. The e-mail remained unopened. "Geez, don't have a bird, I'm not that kind of person." She apologized for her accusation and opened the e-mail. It read simply;

"Meet me at the Thompson Park at 3:30 this afternoon."

She read it again and again, wondering what he could need to meet with her about. 'It must be important,' she mused. 'There's not a bit of wordplay or rhetoric.' She looked at her clock and sighed. Five-thirty in the morning. It suddenly seemed an eternity until noon, let alone three-thirty.

The eternity passed, and she sat in a swing at the park, (she couldn't resist a moment of childhood nostalgia) listening to her mp3 player. As she swung gently to the beat, she sang softly.

"I'm standing on the bridge, I'm waiting in the dark,

I thought that you'd be here by now.

There's nothing but the rain, no footsteps on the ground,

I'm listening, but there's no sound.

Isn't anyone trying to find me?

Won't somebody come take me home?

It's a damn cold night,

Trying to figure out this life,

Won't you take me by the hand, take me somewhere new,

I don't know who you are, but I,

I'm with you."

She jumped as a pair of hands came over her own, pulling back on the chains of the swing before letting go. She turned the music off and turned to see Hannibal, smiling. "I hope you don't mind, I couldn't resist." He stated simply, pushing gently on the small of her back to keep her going. "Not at all." She smiled. As he pushed her, she voiced the question that was on her tongue since early that morning. "So Dr. Lecter, why did you need to meet me that badly?" He pushed her again, taking his time before answering. "Well, I was doing a little research, and I found the man that the last family recognized. I thought that you would like to ask him a few questions." "Oh. Thank you for that. Why did you choose the park in particular?" she could sense him smile behind her as he pushed her again. "You mentioned how much you loved the swings in your childhood. I thought you needed a moment of childishness." She laughed. It was the first time he'd seen her so carefree. "Yeah, don't we all?" He smiled, letting out a sigh. "Of course…" he noticed that she had put a little more effort into her appearance this time. She wore a dark blue long sleeve shirt and dark jeans. Her unruly hair had been pulled back into a half-ponytail, her bangs falling into her face. The necklace he'd given her was around her neck, and was shining in the afternoon light. "You like the gift, I see?" he asked, smiling. "Huh? Oh, yes, thank you. Speaking of which, I decided to get you something in return." He moved in front of her and she stopped the swing, not wanting to hit him full-force. He stopped the rest of her momentum by grabbing the chains once more, this time, not releasing them. "Now, Miss Dahlia, you didn't need to do that." He said, surprised. She smiled once more. "I know. I wanted to, though. Besides, it's almost Christmas, and I don't know if I'll be able to see you then. Here." She got a small box out of her pocket and handed it to him. "You're a difficult person to shop for, so I tried not to get something very flashy or obvious. " he opened the box to find a bracelet made of black leather, with small silver beads braided into the design. "…Thank you, Miss Dahlia, it's perfect." He said, shocked that she could find anything that suited him. He slipped it over his wrist, where it fit perfectly, the black leather accenting his pale skin. "I hope you're not just saying that, Dr. Lecter. If you don't like it, I won't expect you to wear it." She said nervously. He smiled. "Quite the contrary, Miss Dahlia, I find it very appropriate. You needn't worry so much." She smiled, relieved that she'd made the right choice. The rest from the night before had obviously done her some good, for she looked far more energetic than usual, and her dark eyes looked vibrant and full of hope.

"So, what's the plan, oh Leader-Person?" She asked with a small laugh. He held up a pair of tickets. "Well, since my car has taken a dislike to me, we'll take a train to our destination." She raised an eyebrow. "What happened to your car?" He sighed. "Let's just say that there was an actual explosion, I won't go into details, and it's just an all-around headache. The train was a far better choice." She smiled. "All right. When does the train leave?" He checked his watch. "In…about an hour and a half. I wanted to meet you here early so you could pack." He smirked, remembering her lack of preparation from the last time. She rolled her eyes. "You won't let me forget about that, will you?" He shook his head, his smile widening. He straightened from his slightly slouched position and looked down at her. "Shall we go?" She thought for a moment, getting a devilish grin on her face. "One minute longer, I need to do one last thing while I'm still insane enough to do it." He moved out of the way, knowing what she was going to do, and she started to swing once more. She rose higher and higher still, waiting for the perfect moment. 'There.' She let go of the swing and pushed herself out of it, feeling the weightlessness of her body in the instant before gravity held her once more. She landed catlike in the sand below, unscathed. She heard clapping behind her. Turning with a smile, she calmly stated, "You know, you should try it sometime. It's insanely fun." He let out a chuckle as she brushed the dust from her jeans. "Excuse me if I'm not the type." She fell into step with him as they returned to the academy. "How long do you think we'll be gone? I need to know what to pack." He thought for a long minute, and eventually answered, "Oh, I'd say about three or four days. The first to get there, the second to find a hotel and to speak with the young man in question, and the other one or two to do as we wish. You look like you need a vacation, anyway." "T-thank you, Dr. Lecter." He glanced down at her. "Now, I'll let you get away with that for the moment. But the instant we finish speaking with our suspect, the both of us won't be working so we'll be on a first-name basis only. Agreed?" she blushed lightly and nodded. "Agreed."

He stopped a little ways away and let her go to her room alone. She got out a small travel bag and packed a few days' worth of clothes, sleep-clothes, basic toiletries, and a few of her favorite books. She turned to leave when she saw Robyn standing in front of the door, her arms crossed. "Where do you think you're going?" Dahlia sighed. "Okay, I can explain. I need to—" She interrupted her. "I guessed. You left that e-mail open like an idiot. Just make sure that you and your old boyfriend keep it PG-13, okay?" The younger girl's face flushed crimson and she began to stutter out an explanation. "That's not—he's just – he's not my –you see—" she waved her away, stepping out of the way. "Yeah, yeah. Just go before I change my mind." She did, muttering a small "Thanks." She met him outside the campus grounds, and he smiled. "Ready?" she nodded, trying to keep her heart rate normal. His smile turned into a smirk and she vaguely wondered how much of the conversation he'd heard.

They got to the train station, boarding and choosing an empty compartment. He slid into a seat and pulled out a newspaper, turning to the obituaries page. She sat beside him and pulled out a copy of "A Tale of Two Cities", her favorite book. She turned to book two, chapter five and started to read. She unknowingly started to hum a song under her breath. Hannibal stopped to listen, smiling a little. 'If I have to travel with someone,' he mused. 'I'm glad it's her.' He went back to the obituaries, enjoying the moment.

He'd just finished the last funeral announcement when something soft fell on his shoulder. He looked down to find Dahlia, fast asleep and using his arm for a pillow. He smiled and put his jacket around her shoulders. She settled deeper into her dreams, a small smile gracing her thin features. He left his arm around her and got a little more comfortable. An assistant walked by and giggled at the sight. "How sweet! Are you two together?" He shook his head, careful not to disturb the smaller girl. "No, just good friends." "Well, you two would make a very cute couple." She giggled once more and left. He sat there in the cold compartment, lost in his thoughts, not even noticing the fact that he was drifting off himself.

She was awake, barely. Just in that space where one is awake enough to enjoy the fact that they were almost asleep. Her arms were wrapped around something warm, and she nuzzled her face deeper into it. The air around her was cold, and she tried to keep herself warm. She tried desperately to remember the glimpses of dream that floated on her subconscious, trying to return to it. After failing at that, she remained clinging to the thing, wondering what it was that she was holding on to. As her awareness returned slowly but surely, curiosity overtook her, and she opened her eyes and looked up. There Hannibal was; his head leaned back on the seat, his eyes closed and his breathing even. She allowed herself a small smile and settled down a little more, getting comfortable. She felt a cold draft blow through the compartment and she shivered, moving closer to her companion, even daring to wrap her arms around his lanky frame. He responded by tightening his hold around her shoulders. His head rolled to rest on hers, and she blushed. 'He probably wouldn't be anywhere near this close tome if he were awake…' She mused. She found her head right in the bend where his head connected to his neck, and she was overwhelmed by his scent. He smelled of something she couldn't describe, something that might have been body spray, but might also have been some kind of soap, but more than likely, it might simply have been something that was indescribably_ him._ Just as Dahlia found herself drifting off once more, there was a knock on the compartment door. She didn't move, hoping that whoever it was would just give up and go away, but she wasn't so lucky. They kept knocking, more forcefully this time, and eventually, Hannibal let out a groan. She instantly remembered his "definitely-not-a-morning-person" attitude from before, and prayed that he would have mercy on this poor soul.

He was having a pleasant dream when he was so rudely awakened. A rapping noise came chaotically into his dream, unraveling it quickly. Try as he might, he couldn't quite get it back, so he opened his eyes and shot a glare at the poor assistant that had awakened him. She jumped, obviously frightened by the look in his eyes, and motioned that they were arriving at their destination. He sighed and sat a moment more, trying to enjoy the moment while it lasted. Eventually, the train came to a stop, and he sighed once more. He gently shook the smaller girl, who was drifting off once more. "Miss Dahlia. Miss Dahlia, please wake up. We're here." He shook her once more, and she stirred. She sat up, releasing her companion, and stretched, letting out a small yawn. "There already? What time is it?" He glanced at his watch, using his other hand to smooth down his hair. "About a quarter to eleven p.m." "Hmmmm….." she said while stretching once more. "I _knew_ I hadn't slept the whole night through." He nodded. "I know what you mean. Come on, we had better get to the hotel before the Christmas rush gets there." He stood, a little shakily for a moment, and helped her up once he got his balance. She took a step forward and lost her balance for a split second. She crashed forward into his chest and he caught her, steadying her before she could fall. He released her just as quickly as it had happened, but neither of them had missed the spark of electricity that had gone through them as they came into contact. Dahlia blushed, muttering a "sorry" and moving to get her bag. He mumbled something similar and got the door.

They got outside the train and into the snow. The smaller girl's eyes lit up, and she let out a sigh. "Oh, man, I haven't seen the snow in years! Where are we, anyway?" He smiled at her child-like amazement. "Somewhere in northern Virginia. Beware of the accents." She let out a small giggle. "All right, lead the way, Dr. Lecter." He inwardly winced, but forgave the professional name. She suddenly noticed that she was wearing the black trenchcoat that Hannibal was never without. "Oh, do you want your coat back? I seem to have stolen it somehow…" He gave a charming smile and replied, "You need it more than I do. It _is_ December, after all." She nodded, remembering that it was only a week and a half until Christmas day. He led the way to a _nice_ hotel, and she gasped. "Dr. Lecter, this is…really it's…not that I'm not grateful to you for this, but you didn't have to pick a hotel _this_ expensive…" "Not at all. There was no way that I'd let us sleep in a hotel like that last one I chose. If you can call that hole a hotel…" The last was muttered in a low growl, and she suspected that he still held a grudge for the less-than-pleasant awakening from their last trip. He paid for their room, and they got into the elevator, going to the eighth floor. They opened the door to the room, and what they found make a low growl form in his throat while his companion started to laugh.

There was only one bed in the room.

He sighed in frustration. "Really? _Really??_ I specifically asked for a room with two beds. Is that too much to ask?" "Apparently. I'll see about the extra bed." She got to the phone and called down to the front desk. He had to admit that she had a lot more patience than he would have had. She stayed polite through the entire call, but when she hung up the phone, she ran her fingers through her hair in frustration. "Well, there's no room with another bed, and they just gave away the last roll-away. We're pretty much S. O. L." He sighed. "All right, I'll take the floor." She shook her head. "Oh, no. You already took the crappy bed the last time, I'll take the floor." "No, I won't let a lady sleep on the floor when there's a bed she could be sleeping in." She frowned. "You're not taking the floor. You've done enough for me as is, and for that, you deserve the bed." He could sense that she was gearing up for a fight, so he did so as well. "I, as a gentleman, will not let you sleep on the floor of this room. Who knows what's been on it. Take. The. Bed." His voice was low, and he tensed. She sighed. "All right, at the risk of starting the biggest fight of the millennium, how about we both take the bed and no one has to sleep on the floor?" He was about to say something, but stopped. "I—What?" She smiled. "The bed's obviously big enough for the both of us. If we stay close to the edge on both sides, we'll both have the personal space we need. All right?" He thought the idea over. It seemed sound, in his opinion. "Okay, I give. We'll both take the bed." She smiled, triumphant, and went into the bathroom to change into her pajamas. He remained in the room to do the same, and wondered at the turn of events. Did he just agree to share a bed with her? He sighed. 'Ah, well. It can't be that bad, can it?' His lips gave an upward twitch without his noticing. 'One thing's for sure.' He decided. 'She's every bit as stubborn as I am.' She exited the bathroom and found her companion, surprisingly, in nothing but a pair of cotton pants. Trying to hide her blush, she went to the closest side of the bed. She didn't notice that he was still standing, trying to get his thoughts in order.

He hadn't noticed that she'd entered the room until he turned to sit on the bed. There she was, wearing a green tank top and dark blue pajama pants. Her hair was down about her shoulders, and her dark brown eyes were heavy with sleep. She went to what she deemed was her side of the bed and sat, while he tried to get his mind back on track. Suddenly, he felt the fatigue of his sleepless nights and went to the other side, deciding to think it over in the morning.

He laid there for a long while, trying to clear his mind enough to get to sleep. When that plan failed, he stared at the ceiling, defeated. The wind flowed through the window that he'd opened when he entered the room. (He hated to be in a room that was completely closed in and airtight. It brought back memories that he would rather not think about.) There was movement to his side, and he looked over to find that Dahlia had moved in her sleep so that she was less than a foot away from him. 'She's moving toward the primary source of heat,' he realized. 'She must be cold.' He got up out of bed and put a shirt on, intending to go out for a walk. He exited the hotel and stood outside on the sidewalk for a while, just letting the sounds of the city wash over him. Cars honked as they drove by, people called their friends for a ride home because they were too drunk to drive. A woman cried as her boyfriend hung up on her and he noticed something. Since she confronted her mother, he had not seen her shed a tear, even after all the hardships she faced. "A mask to hide from the world…" As he spoke, his breath came out as mist. "Why won't you let me in, little siren? Have I not proven my trustworthiness to you?" He mused on that for a long time, just standing out in the snow. Eventually, the cold got to be unbearable and he went inside. He couldn't feel his feet, (due to the fact that he had been barefoot for some unearthly reason) and he got back up to the room, careful not to wake his companion.

He slipped back under the comforter and his foot hit something warm. "Christ, your feet are like ice!!" She cried, instantly awake. He smiled and laughed, the first time he'd done so without guarding himself. It was a carefree laugh, without any sort of darkness weighing it down. She blushed and couldn't help but join in. She smiled tiredly and asked, "So did you leave? Your feet tell me that you did." "Just left for a walk to clear my head. I was having a hard time getting to sleep." She raised an eyebrow. "Barefoot?" He looked down, embarrassed. A slight miscalculation on his part. She continued. "And you should have told me you couldn't sleep." He frowned, confused. "What would you do?" She shrugged. "I don't know. But it's pretty boring to be the only one awake. You co….ould have woken me up or something." She tried to hide her yawn, but failed miserably. He smiled. "I don't think I could have. Go back to sleep, you need the rest." He put a hand on her shoulder and she layed back down. "And what will you do?" she asked, yawning again. "Don't you worry about that, just sleep." She closed her eyes with a nod and drifted off almost on the instant. He watched her sleep for a moment before returning his gaze to the ceiling. "So much for clearing my head…" He muttered. He was distracted by something being thrown across his chest. He looked down to see a pale arm invading his personal space. Looking to the side, he realized that Dahlia, in her sleep, had drawn closer and put an arm across his chest in search of warmth. He took it in stride and put an arm around her, thinking. 'I might as well enjoy it while it lasts.' Strangely, listening to her soft breathing and feeling her pulse faintly through her arm, he relaxed, his thoughts turning to a pleasant gray fog. Sleep overtook him at last.


	5. Chapter 4

Dahlia slowly woke up, very much against her will. She was far too comfortable, in her opinion, to be anywhere near awake. She was laying half-on top of something very warm, her head and left hand resting on the flat of it. She felt a soft thumping noise, like the beating of a drum, through her hand and in her ears. Her heartbeat slowed to match it and the gentle rhythm lulled her into a sort of trance. The phone rang suddenly, and she felt a groan rumble through the thing. She blushed as she got a vague idea of what—or who—she was resting on. An arm (which was around her waist until then) reached out and picked the phone up off of the receiver. "Hello?" the voice rumbled once more. It stopped to listen, and then hung the phone up while the poor person was still talking. "I don't believe I ordered a six-thirty wake-up call, thank you very much. " The arm returned to its resting place on the small of her back and she felt him sigh. 'Is he awake enough to know…?' she wondered. The open window let in a cold, snow-laced breeze and she shivered. He had moved the comforter down in order to get the phone, and her shoulders were exposed to the elements. He pulled the comforter back into place and she relaxed once more, letting out a soft sigh. Their heartbeats slowed to match each other's once more, and she closed her eyes. She was just drifting off when…

Her cell phone rang. She knew it was hers because she heard her all-too-familiar ringtone blare out:

"Just shut up, shut up, shut up,

Don't wanna hear it,

Get up, get up, get up,

Get outta my way,

Step up, step up, step up,

You'll never stop me,

Nothing you say today is gonna bring me down…"

"Appropriate ring tone." She heard Hannibal mutter. She stayed perfectly still. 'Maybe he'll stop calling and go away. Yeah, that's possible…' she remained there for a while, but after the third time the phone rang, she had to get up. She sat up and swung her feet out of the bed, letting out a hiss between her teeth as her warm feet hit the cold hardwood floor. "Yikes, that's cold!" She muttered. As she hunted for her phone, she slipped on a patch of what was previously snow that Hannibal had shaken from the legs of his pants the night before. She hit the floor with a smack. "Miss Dahlia, are you all right?" He asked, still in the bed. All he saw was a hand triumphantly hold a phone in the air. "Found it!" was all she replied. She sat up, an angry red mark on one side of her face, and answered the phone. "Hello—" "JEHAN! WHAT DID I TELL YOU ABOUT—" *click* She shut the phone. It was pure instinct, and she had an indifferent look on her face. Suddenly, the weight of what she had done fell on her conscience.

"Oh! Oh, gosh, I've done it now. I'll be kicked out for sure, no more chances, no place to live, a thousand dollars out of pocket just _paying_ to be in there…" He raised an eyebrow. "Would you miss that place so much?" She honestly thought on it. "Well, not the place, really, I was just there to train to be a police detective. The classes were okay, but the teachers are biased towards the students who paid the most to join, and Mr. Crawford is so full of himself, his ego is pouring out of his ears." She looked down, a troubled look on her face. "I joined to help people…" She indicated the case file. "These people…they need to be avenged. Their killer punished for his crime. I…I feel that I'm one of the only ones that can do that." He smiled. This was one of the first times that he was able to see under her cheerful mask, to the anxious and quiet girl that lay underneath. He saw the pain of her father's death, with the anger towards her mother's indifference. Coupled with the resentment from her classmates and her extreme lack of self-esteem, she was a Freudian field day. He wasn't sure what to do, but he knew that he had to get her mind off of her troubles.

"Well, if you feel up to avenging deaths, how about we question our suspect?" She raised an eyebrow. "What about your car troubles?" he shrugged. "We'll walk." "All right, but I think we should get dressed first." She indicated their pajamas, a light flash of color staining her cheeks as she noticed that he, once more, was shirtless. She went to get changed and-after having to return to the bathroom once more, face crimson, because Hannibal had not yet finished dressing—they went to breakfast at a nearby café. She glanced at the case file for the fifth time in ten minutes and sighed.

"What if this isn't our guy? What if this trip was all for nothing?" He gave a small smile over his coffee cup. "Even if this isn't the killer, we are still here on vacation, so it won't be 'all for nothing', as you say." She shut the file. "Gonna be hard to relax with _this_ on my mind." "Fear not. I have a plan to remedy that." She raised an eyebrow, smirking. "You? I don't believe you've relaxed _once_ since I've met you—while awake," she added as he opened his mouth to retort. "What is this foolproof plan of yours?" he held up a finger in reprimand. "Ah-ah, Miss Dahlia, let's not give the game away so soon, hmm?" She smiled, eating the last of the honey-covered croissant that she'd ordered. For as long as she could remember, she had always loved sweet things. As a high school student to early college, she would always trade a good dinner for a few brownies or a bowl of ice cream at least five days a week. (She knew that it wasn't healthy, though, so she ate a good breakfast and lunch beforehand.) Coupling the honey pastry with a cup of sweetened raspberry-flavored tea, and you got a diabetic's dream meal. He raised an eyebrow.

"How can you stand that poison?" She looked up innocently. "Huh?" "All that sugar. It'll kill you someday, you know that?" She smiled. "Oh, but it's so worth it. Want a taste?" He quelled the thoughts that the innocent question had raised and shook his head. "I'm not much one for sugar." She put the cup down, looking at him as if he were crazy. "How long has it been since you've last had anything sweet?" He rubbed the bridge of his nose, wondering, 'Can she hear her words, or is she actually _that_ naïve?' At length he replied, "I can't remember. I'm not sure I've had sweets since my childhood." "It's settled, then. One taste and I'll leave you alone." She held the coffee cup out expectantly. "I am not getting that poison anywhere near me." He said, eying it with contempt. "Uh-huh. Just one taste, please? I'll stop bothering you…" Her innocent brown eyes pierced his, and he felt his resolve fading. "Why are you so adamant about this?" He asked. She shrugged. "I can't imagine someone not liking anything sweet. Don't knock it 'till you've tried it." 'I can think of something else that's sweet that I'd like to try…Stop it!' he mentally slapped himself. Where had that thought come from? True, he hadn't been thinking in a perverted way, (her lips were what had come to mind) but he was still shocked. Trying to get his thoughts off of the matter, he took the cup. Giving it a hesitant look, he cautiously took a sip. Much to his surprise, it was good. The first thing he tasted was pure sweetness, but after his tongue got used to it, he tasted the raspberry winding through and around the sugar. He hated to admit it, but it was certainly something he would order on his own.

"Well?" Dahlia asked, breaking his concentration. "It's…not bad." He admitted at length. She grinned wildly. "See? What did I tell you?" He sighed. "Now, Miss Dahlia, don't act as if you've won the game quite yet. All I said was that it wasn't bad. I never said I _liked_ it." She smirked. "Oh, I've been known to convert people before, you'll learn yet." She had a mischievous spark in her eyes, and he had the feeling that her methods involved a sneak attack. He'd have to guard his coffee cup more often when she was around.

They finished, paid, and walked to the address of the man. As they walked up to the house, Dahlia got a shiver. "Cold?" Hannibal asked. She shook her head. "No, I'm getting a weird feeling. Like a feeling of impending doom or something. There's something bad about this place, I know it." He shot her a concerned look. "Do you want me to go with you?" "But I thought you had to hide your face from anyone who might have known who you were." She said, confused. He shrugged, the move in itself graceful. She didn't believe he could do anything otherwise. "I've never killed anyone from West Virginia. At least…no one who would remember my face. " She smiled, not knowing if he was joking or not. "Do you want me to accompany you?" he asked once more. She scuffed her shoe against the pavement. "If you wouldn't mind coming…" she muttered. He smiled. "Not at all. Come on." He placed a hand on the small of her back and gently led her to the door. She knocked on the door and he witnessed a curious change overtake his companion.

She stood a little straighter, her face calm and composed, and she closed her eyes, taking a deep breath. The door opened to reveal a kind-looking man of about forty. His hair was a sandy blonde, and his brown eyes locked on Dahlia, barely registering Hannibal's existence. "Can I help you?" he asked innocently. When she spoke, her voice was mechanical, far different from the voice he was so used to. "Yes, I'm Detective Jehan from the Washington P. D. and I'd like to ask a few questions about the Zodiac killings. May we come in?" he stepped aside. "Sure, go ahead, make yourself at home." They took a seat on the couch and she went through the usual questions, how he knew the victims, what he knew about the whole situation, and he played the perfect bystander. That is, until he slipped up. He was talking about Melissa and how he knew her at school, and he wound up saying, "And I heard about that weird circle-x-thing that was on her heel, and I knew that the Zodiac guy had to have been back." Neither Dahlia's nor Hannibal's faces moved, but they both knew exactly what had just happened. No one had released that particular detail to the press. She finished up the last few questions and stood. "Well, we'd best be going. Sorry to have wasted your time." He shook his head. "No problem at all. You guys just make sure that Melissa's killer gets what he deserves, all right?" "Oh, we will." Hannibal replied. As they left, he turned to her.

"Please tell me you heard that." She nodded, returning to her old self. "Oh, yeah. I can't believe we just found our prime suspect. I feel like we're actually getting somewhere!" she grinned. They stepped off of the curb and he visibly relaxed. "All right, from this moment forward, we are not coworkers, we are…friends." He said the word as if he wasn't sure if it sounded correct in his mouth. He went on. "And as such, we'll be on a first-name basis only. Is that agreed, Miss Dahlia?" he glanced down at her and she nodded. "Sure …Hannibal." She stopped for a second, as if getting used to saying the name. She liked the way it sounded as it rolled off the tongue. "But that _does_ mean that you can drop the 'Miss' off of my name. If this is going to be as informal as you insist it should be, anyway." He agreed. "So, where to?" she asked, curious. He smirked. "All in due time, Dahlia."

He led her to the last place that she would have expected him to think of: a carnival. "Are you serious?" she asked, grinning once more. "Deadly." He replied amiably. He started to lead her to a towering rollercoaster. "This looks interesting…" she pulled back. "Umm, I'm not so sure that's a good idea…" he looked back at her. "Why not?" he asked innocently, but the crimson sparks in his eyes were dancing. "Well, this is taken apart and put back together so frequently, you never know if it's stable…these things could kill someone…" "You're trying to give yourself excuses, Dahlia. Why do you truly not want to ride the rollercoaster?" she looked down. "I—I don't like heights." He smirked. "The only way to overcome your fear is to face it head-on. Come on, you're riding with me." He dragged her to the line and she resisted. "No! Please don't make me ride this, please?" her voice took on a slight begging tone and he saw pure fear in her eyes. There apparently was a childhood experience with heights that traumatized her. He sighed. "I'll go on any ride you want if you ride this once." He offered. She frowned. "Robyn pulled this same crap on me, too…all right, fine. One. Time." She held up her index finger for emphasis. He nodded, happy about the way things turned out. Then he suddenly had the thought: 'What will she force me to ride for revenge?' his mental theatre started playing himself on kiddy rides. He shuddered at the thought.

They got to the front of the line and he led her into one of the center seats for her peace of mind. She was as still as stone, petrified as the bar dropped across their laps. The car lurched forward and she began to shake. "Oh, why did I agree to this, why did I ever think this is safe, how did I get talked into this…" she muttered. The shaking progressively got worse as the car moved steadily up the first hill. She kept muttering to herself, ending on the eerily clear sentence as they crested the top: "I'm gonna die." The car fell and she flung her arms around him instinctively, letting out an earth-shattering, almost melodic scream that could have broken glass. He grinned and let out a laugh as they plummeted towards the ground. She was a trooper, only screaming during the drops, but she did set out a loud curse as they went through a series of loops. The ride ended finally, and she stumbled off the platform, leaning on a rail for support. He put a hand on her back. "How do you feel?" he asked, wondering if he'd gone too far. When she looked up at him, she was far too pale. "You, Hannibal, are an ass." She stated simply. She straightened and he repeated, "Are you sure you're okay?" she nodded. "Oh, sure. But you'll have to know that this means war and you're being held to your word." He was afraid of that. She looked around and dragged him to something called the "Spaceship". "Ooh, cool! I love these things!" "What is it?" he asked, wary of the younger girl. "You'll see~" she replied in singsong. They entered the ride and he saw many blue things against the wall, set in grooves so that they could roll to the ceiling. "There's no seatbelts…" he muttered, seeing people leaning against the blue pads. She grinned. "Nope, it uses centrifugal force. Now grab a spot of wall and when you feel like it'll take your weight, start climbing." He nodded, wondering what in hell was going on.

The ride started and they began to spin. He felt the g-force on him and crawled up the wall as it became strong enough to hold him. Dahlia had already scaled the blue foam and settled as the force got stronger. He was now anchored against the wall and he felt the skin of his face move towards his ears. His companion let out a giggle and called out, "Isn't this fun?" "Define 'fun'." He said, finding it difficult to move his mouth. The pressure got worse and worse until he found himself able to move his face without pressure. Eventually, he dropped back to the ground, Dahlia following close behind. "Aww," she said, frowning. "Never lasts long enough." The doors opened and he stumbled out, leaning on the gate until the world stopped spinning. Dahlia came out soon after, giggling and unable to walk in a straight line. "What did you think?" she asked pleasantly. "Touché." He replied, catching his breath. Once he had done so, he straightened. "I propose we agree on something before we drag the other on a ride, what do you think?" she smiled, nodding. "Agreed. What next?"

The rest of the afternoon was crazy, while Hannibal liked heights and drops and Dahlia loved insane amounts of spinning, they did find middle ground.

"I don't know why you find amusement in these cheap shooting booths, Dahlia." She grinned as she held the plastic rifle up to eye level. "It helps my aim. Besides…" she took a moment to shoot a badly painted cowboy between the eyes. "It's insanely fun. Wanna try?" he walked over. "I see no point, but I'll humor you." He took a few shots and stopped. "What's up, you were doing better than me." She asked, looking over his shoulder at the game. "I…didn't expect this to be enjoyable…I don't like guns, as a rule, too impersonal." She let out a soft laugh, still looking over his shoulder. "Seeing as it's just a game, I think you're allowed to enjoy it a little bit." Given her close proximity, he could catch her scent on the breeze. He caught a faint floral scent from her hair and closed his eyes, trying to place it. Trying to cover, he shot the gun once more, (he knew he'd hit dead center, he memorized the entire placement of the targets) and finally realized that she used water lily-scented shampoo. It suited her, much to his surprise. He continued to shoot, winning a ridiculous-looking purple bear-type stuffed animal with cat ears. He eyed it with contempt and handed it to Dahlia, stating, "I'm sure you'll find more use for it than I." she smiled for the millionth time that day and replied with a "Thanks, I guess…I'm not quite sure what it's supposed to be, though…" "I suppose that adds to the mystery…or something." "Or something." She agreed.

After the sun had set, they began the trek back to the hotel. "You know," Dahlia began, still holding the bear-cat. "That was a lot more fun than I thought it would be. Thank you, Hannibal." She smiled up at him and he couldn't help but join in. "You're very welcome. Now, don't you feel better about the situation?" she nodded. "Yeah, I do. I really think we could catch this guy. But…" her eyes grew distant. "What happens after that?" he raised an eyebrow. "What do you mean?" she inwardly hit herself, but she had to finish the sentence. "What happens after this…what will you do?" he stopped. What _would_ he do? He hadn't thought of it. He had originally thought that he'd hint here and there, leading her along, and merely mind his own business in between. But plans so rarely turn out the way that they were planned, as he well knew, and he frowned. "To be honest, I'm not sure. What are _your_ intentions for life after the case?" she shrugged. "Not being in the Academy, that's for sure. Other than that…nothing. I can't go home, Mom will have a field day on how much I give up on things, I can't apologize to Crawford, my pride won't let me. I don't know where to go." He smiled to himself, already thinking of a plan.

"Don't worry about what hasn't already come to pass, Dahlia. Something will come up." "And what does that mean?" he smirked down at her. "You will have to see. Now, it's about…" he checked his watch. "Ten o' clock, so how about we get a late dinner? Fair food is horrible on your intestines, you know." She smiled. "All right, that sounds nice. But how about we drop this guy off at the hotel first?" she indicated the bear-cat. "I'm sure that some people are going to give a few weird looks if I walk in with it, no matter how cute it is." Hannibal chuckled. "As you wish. It's not too far of a walk from the hotel to a good restaurant, anyway." They walked on and he found himself to be struck by a wild hair. Without any sort of restraint, he rested his arm across her shoulder, feeling her tentatively wind an arm around his back. "Dahlia, how would you feel to be travelling with me for a while? You seem to be accustomed to my…unorthodox ways." She looked up at him. "Are you serious?" "Am I ever not?" he returned her gaze, his maroon eyes seeming to hum. Her smile widened. "All right, I'll think about it. Robyn is going to kill me if I leave, though." He returned his gaze to the snow-laden streets. "I'm sure we can persuade her to agree—"

As the words left his lips, a crack echoed through the night. A gunshot. He turned, seeing a man of about Mitchell's build run off. "We have our killer, Dahlia—" he turned to his friend and froze. She held a hand to her stomach, where the bullet had exited from her back. Dahlia collapsed, him going down with her and holding her thin frame to him. "What on earth…" he muttered, thinking quickly. There were very few options for him to take. And only one ensured her life. "When is your birthday, my dear?" he asked almost calmly. The only indication that he was worried at all was in his wine-colored eyes. "J-January, the twenty-first…" barely within the limits, but an Aquarius nonetheless. He sighed. "Just hold on, Dahlia…you will be all right." And then something returned to him. "You told me that you were not in danger." He said softly. She laughed a little, the shock setting in. "No, I told you not to worry. There's a difference." She smiled dazedly, not noticing the hole in her torso as Hannibal called 911. "Thank you, Hannibal…I really had fun today." He pressed his jacket to the wound, trying to stem the flow of blood. "Y-you're welcome. Just hang on. They're coming soon enough."

His face swam in her vision as darkness hovered just at the edge of her consciousness. Why did he look so worried? She wondered. What was she doing on the ground again? And what was going on? Was-was Hannibal in tears? No, she decided, it was just the snow. The look on his face told her that he would have if he had less control, though. Her brown eyes slipped closed. She was really tired all of the sudden. Sirens were heard all of the sudden, and men were talking. Someone called her name a few times, but she was too tired to answer. She felt her body be lifted and placed on something that was moving, and her awareness was snuffed out like the flame of a candle.


	6. Chapter 5

A/N: HOLY MOTHER OF ALL THINGS HORROR, THIS TOOK FOREVER! I'm so so so so so so sorry to anyone still out there waiting for this, but after a lot of trials, crashes, and beatings, I've finally got this chapter out. I know this is a little short, and it's not as fast-paced as I'd like, but it's another step towards where I'd like to be. Please read and review, and please save shoes that are ready to be thrown for a later day. XD

The first thing Dahlia noticed as she came slowly back to awareness was complete and utter pain. She stopped and analyzed the situation while she was trying to distract from the fire in her stomach. She had been walking with Hannibal after the fair after finding their prime suspect for the Zodiac case. And as they were walking, there was a crack. She recognized it now as the sound of a gun; some kind of pistol, maybe. He didn't even bother to use a silencer and he didn't kill her, so she automatically logged away every detail she could think of from the sound of the gun to the faint smell she caught from the Chinese food place two blocks over. She decided it was time to open her eyes and did so, finding herself in bright light. Too bright. Her eyes closed and she tried again after a minute. Much better this time. The room slowly came into focus and she groaned as she turned her head, the wound in her stomach screaming at the movement.

"How do you feel, Dahlia?" A familiarly smooth, slightly raspy voice said softly. "Like…I just got shot…in the back." she said with the smallest of smiles. Talking hurt terribly, and she winced. "That about sums it up." He gave a small chuckle as she turned to face him. "What happened…after I was…out?" he gestured to the surroundings with a small frown. "Try not to speak, if you can manage it. I called the hospital and had them pick you up. You've been out for roughly thirty-two hours." Looking around, she noticed that she was in the Intensive Care Unit of a small hospital, a painfully public place, and he was sitting in a chair at her bedside, looking as if he'd been up for a week and worried. His dark hair was out of place, as if he'd run a hand through it recently, his maroon eyes red-rimmed. _"Too many people know my face for me to be safe in broad daylight." _She remembered him saying. "What…about you?" She had to ask. "Aren't you…going to get…caught?" he smiled, taking her hand in his. This rare gesture of kindness made the breath hitch in her chest. "Don't worry about that, just rest. And what did I say about talking?" After a moment, almost as an afterthought, "I'm glad you're still with us, Dahlia." She couldn't think of how to answer, simply glad for his company.

"Is there anything you need?" Hannibal asked at length. "Anything at all." She thought for a minute and shook her head. "No…not really." "Oh? I was sure you'd be missing something, as you're going to be recovering here for a while…" With his trademark smirk, he held up a black bag that she recognized as hers, full to the brim with books. "How…did you—" He held up a polite hand to quiet her. "I knew you'd be missing them, and I saw them in your things when they sent me back after visiting hours." She gave a grateful smile. "Thank you…Hannibal." His smirk softened for a moment. "You're welcome. Now, I must ask, for investigation's sake…what do you remember about that night?"She frowned, making the circles under her own eyes more prominent. "I…we were by a…restaurant…I could…smell it…I heard a…shot, and…then felt it…and I remember…lying in the snow…" _'in your arms'_ her mind supplied, and she shook her head. "And that's it." He nodded, looking pensive. "Wait." She said as something came to her. He looked over at her, his mood brightening at the light of discovery in her eyes. "He didn't shoot…to kill. He didn't…even use a silencer. And he didn't…stay to see…if I had died…" "So?" Hannibal asked, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips. She was almost there… "He didn't want me dead…he wanted me…out of the way. Someone else…is in danger."

He felt his face split into a true grin. She got it dead-on. "Excellent, Dahlia, very good. You'll make a good detective yet." At this, he saw something curious. She literally _glowed_ at his praise, beaming proudly. What sort of attention did anyone give her if she was this pleased over one person's compliment? She deserved more, he was sure. She looked every bit the underdog when he had seen her at the Academy. "Thank you…" She replied, unable to keep her happiness from her voice. After a moment, she voiced a dark thought that was swimming in her ever-aware consciousness. "Though…I don't feel right…sitting here when…someone else is in danger." "I thought you wouldn't." He chuckled, standing a moment and checking her vitals with a practiced hand. He took her thin wrist in his slender fingers, his maroon eyes trained on his watch. "You've been…doing this a while…" She commented with a smile. "I was a doctor before I was caught." He pointed out, smiling as well. "And I've been doing this every hour, on the hour, whenever there was no doctor to do it."She blinked. He was honestly taking care of her. It was a foreign feeling; she had been self-reliant for so long, even when she had gotten sick, she had always taken care of herself. "Hopefully you haven't gotten an infection with all of these incompetent doctors around…" "I'm sure…they're better…than you give them…credit for." She smiled, wondering if this was something he always did around the medical field. "Ever the optimist, aren't we, Dahlia?" He asked, finding her smile contagious. "Around you…?" She had to take a deep breath before carrying on. "Always."

Apparently satisfied despite his insult towards the doctors on call, he resumed his seat, observing his friend. She was frowning again, obviously in deep thought. She needed a distraction… He looked down and raised an eyebrow at a paperback at the top of the pile of the still-open bag. He picked it up, reading the back with a raised eyebrow. "Would you like for me to read to you?" He asked, looking over at her. Her face flushed lightly. He'd do that? "U-um…sure…if you want…" She replied with a shy smile. "I wouldn't offer if I didn't want to." He replied, opening the worn paperback to the first page. Smiling, he cleared his throat and began to read:

"'Shadow had done three years in prison. He was big enough and looked don't-fuck-with-me enough that his biggest problem was killing time. So he kept himself in shape, and taught himself coin tricks, and thought a lot about how much he loved his wife. …"

Dahlia was spellbound. His maroon eyes flashed as they ran over page after page, and his voice…instead of telling the story, it brought it to life before her eyes. She realized that Hannibal owned one of those one-in-a-generation kinds of voices that were blessed with the art of storytelling. It tripped and flew over the narration and seemed to get each part of the dialogue spot-on. She saw the prison before her eyes, saw Shadow himself—big, tough, and oddly quiet—heard the rasping laugh of Low Key Lyesmith and the cool, collected voice of the mysterious Mr. Wednesday. She supposed, in the back of her mind where she was able to think of anything else, that it didn't help that it was one of her favorite books that he had picked up. But then again, she mused, maybe that was the plan all along. She sat up a little more, not wanting to be lulled back to sleep by the soothing voice. Just as he had gotten to the fight between Shadow and the tall Mad Sweeney, a doctor walked into the room. "Okay, Miss Jehan, let's see how you're doing, all right?" She nodded, watching as her friend marked his page a little impatiently. She blinked a few times, the trance broken, and watched as the resident went through the same motions that Hannibal had done earlier. All was the same. She thought—stifling a laugh—that nothing could really have changed in fifteen minutes. He asked her a few questions and she answered haltingly, sparing her vocal chords as were her orders.

"So, Miss Jehan, how exactly did you get shot again?" He asked, not making much of a show of being nice. "I…told you… I was walking…and I heard a crack…and the next thing I knew, I was…waking up…"She tried to keep the exasperation from her voice. "He…can tell you…the same…" "We're just making sure, Miss Jehan; we don't mean to bother you." The doctor assured her, and she saw Hannibal's lips twitch out of the corner of her eye. "It's…no bother…I'm just…tired." She smiled. This man seemed new to the hospital. "Well, if you're tired, we can send your friend away. Dr. Fell, I hope you don't mind…" She stopped him, putting a hand over Hannibal's hand, which rested beside the book on the edge of her bed. "No…Dr. Fell is fine… Actually…I can't sleep…without knowing…he's there…" She looked over at him with a sheepish smile that was only half-acting. The last sentence was a complete lie, but she felt a pang of fear at the thought of being alone.

"I'll stay as long as you need me to, Dahlia." He picked up on the thread easily, placing his free hand over hers with a reassuring smile. "Thank you…" Her smile turned from nervous to comforted, and he reached forward, brushing the knuckles of his first two fingers over her cheek. Her face went red, completing the act and convincing the doctor. She had to keep telling herself that it was just to keep Hannibal in the hospital past visiting hours, but she couldn't help but feel her heartbeat speed up at the feel of his hand. The gesture was tender, caring, and she leaned into it against every part of her mind telling her not to. Satisfied, the doctor went back to his rounds, and Hannibal leaned back into his chair.

"A good detective _and_ a good liar. Dahlia, will you ever cease to surprise me?" He asked with a smirk, noting how red her face was. How much of that was a lie, he wondered, his smirk never fading. Her flush deepened, now out of embarrassment. "Not sure…will I?" She returned, giving a small smile. "We shall have to see." His smile widened. "Now, I believe that the story must wait until you've rested a little more. You must be tired." "But…-" He held up a hand as she tried to protest. "I insist. You need all the rest you can get to help with your wound. Please rest." At the last, his tone was soft, almost as if he were worried. Listening to it, she deflated and gave in, leaning back against her pillows. "Okay…I'll try…" She said, betrayed by a yawn. "You'll succeed, I'm sure." He replied, setting the book on the table next to her bed. "You've succeeded at everything else thus far." "You give…me too much…credit, Hannibal…" She replied, smiling anyway. "Nonsense." He shrugged. "Now, please try to sleep. It will help your recovery." She nodded, already feeling her eyelids get heavy. She was so enraptured by the story he was telling earlier that she didn't notice just how tired she was. "All right…" She said at length, leaning her head back and watching as Hannibal turned the light in her room out, leaving the blinds open and the window cracked to let in the chill December air. He lowered the angle at which her bed was raised, and at last pulled the blankets over her shoulders from where they fell.

"Um, Hannibal?" She asked, her voice soft to keep from straining her chest. "Yes, Dahlia?" "Thank you…for all of this…you didn't…have to do anything…" He smiled, a pang of guilt hitting his chest as the words came to him. 'I almost didn't…' Never showing his guilt, he replied, "It's no problem in the least. Good night." "Night…" She smiled and closed her eyes, slipping back into unconsciousness as easily as taking the last step off of a diving board. He watched her sleep, his maroon eyes glowing redly in the near-dark, his mind working—as always—on twenty levels at once and at a speed almost incomprehensible to most normal people. There were things that needed to be done, he knew, and a certain someone was not going to get away with this. But for right now, he stayed in his vigil, wishing in the back of his mind that the hospital bed on which his friend slept was big enough to support two bodies.


	7. Chapter 6

A/N: I know, it's short, it's been WAY too long since my last upload, and there's a cliffhanger the size of the Grand Canyon, but I've finally gotten to a point where things can flow better. This actually is where I wanted to be since about chapter two, so I'm rather proud that I've gotten this far. :) Please review if you read; I'd like to know what you think, and to one faithful reviewer, LedgerLines: Your awesomeness is what got me this far. Thanks, and I hope you like where Dahlia will have to go next. :D

In order to return to health, Dahlia was quick to find, she had to spend more time in the hospital than she originally anticipated. Though by the second day, her condition had improved and she was moved to a better room. Her mind worked on overdrive, trying to figure out what to do about her shooter, how to find evidence of anyone but a random punk with a gun being responsible, and even how to find the killer. Cleverly, Hannibal had "forgotten" the case file, and did just about everything he could to distract her from her whirlwind of thoughts. He got through American Gods in two days—there was little else to do but read—and had moved on to The Shining—as it turns out, he was a bit of a fan of Stephen King—, two and a half days after that and he was on to Dracula, which was finished in an afternoon. As the week drew to a close, they were a third of the way through 1984. If he was in a good mood, he'd sneak in "real food" to her from a few restaurants he was fond of in the area. When they weren't reading, they'd simply talk about everything, nothing, anything that came to mind. The older man soon discovered that the young detective could get into very heated debates about personal beliefs when pressed, despite her current state of health, and often pressed her to test her strength. At some point, a doctor came in just as he was listening to her explain about the death penalty's necessity.

"You see, if someone takes a life, they forfeit their own right to have it." She pointed out, her voice much stronger after several debates crossing the span of days. She could get through sentences without much strain on her stomach, but there had to be longer pauses between. "Therefore, if someone has killed someone else, and it's proven and they're rightfully found guilty, it's completely fair to sentence them to death." Hannibal nodded, weighing his words. "But then, wouldn't their executioners be putting themselves in the same situation by killing the murderers?" She frowned deeply. "I…don't believe so. Because in killing the criminal, they're saving the lives of those they might have continued to kill. One life's traded for many."He smirked, raising an eyebrow. "Hmm, that's very interesting. I didn't know you thought that way, Dahlia." She returned his smile, shrugging. "You learn something every day."

Through the passing of the days, Dahlia was finding this adage more and more to be true. She had learned to analyze her surroundings, which were quite interesting when all she could do was sit in bed and watch the world around her. One of her favorite things to analyze was Hannibal himself, his expressions fascinating her the most. At first, she thought he was a man with a rather animated face, but when she was able to see the patterns, she saw that he very rarely showed true expressions. He was the type to offer a smirk or a small smile often for various reasons, to pretend he was listening or interested in what people were saying, to wordlessly make fun of someone, to show that someone was on to something, or one of many other reasons. But she really had to look to see the difference between these and his real smiles, which were much harder to come by. The discrepancies were subtle when he was only smiling, she found. There was a glitter his wine-colored eyes got when he was really smiling at something she said or did, occurring much more frequently during their stay in the hospital. But his tell sign was much more obvious on the rarer occasions that he would break into a full grin. When it was meant in malice or to really bother someone, his smile was even, symmetrical, and perfect. But on the occasion that he would grin in humor or happiness, the right side would rise above the left, just barely noticeable if one knew what they were looking for.

The resident broke her musings to check on her vitals, which she was very used to by this time. Offering her arm to him, she let him take her pulse and her blood pressure, wincing as he had to take blood to check for any infection. As he was about to leave, he took a long look at Hannibal, as if trying to place him. The man at the other end of the stare endured this rudeness for only a moment before clearing his throat expectantly. "O-oh! Sorry, sir…" The younger man muttered, taking his leave. Dahlia raised an eyebrow. "That was odd." She commented. "Indeed…" The ex-doctor replied, a frown taking his features. After a moment, he looked back towards her, giving a smile that didn't quite add the glitter she knew to his eyes. "Something has been on your mind for the past day or two, Dahlia." He pointed out, changing the subject quite expertly. "What haven't you been telling me?" Her face reddened. He'd certainly caught her. "Just…about something that happened that night…" She began evasively, not meeting his eyes. "Yes?" He looked at her expectantly, a curious smirk on his face. He knew exactly which night she'd been talking about.

"W-well…" She had to stop to gather her words. There were very few ways for her to go about this without making herself sound like a fool, she thought, taking a deep breath. "Before…the incident, you asked me something…" He nodded, having a good feeling he knew where this was going. "Go on," he prodded gently when she paused. She hesitated a moment and went on. "Well, I…I don't think I ever gave you an answer…not really, anyway…"His smirk widened, his eyes flashing. "If I recall, you said that you would think about it. Have you thought about it, Dahlia?" She hadn't stopped thinking about it, she had to admit. But she gave it yet another once-over in her head, making sure that this was really what she wanted. There wasn't much room to turn back once this kind of decision was made, she knew. A slow smile took her features as the decision came to her. "Yeah, I think I have. I'd like to take you up on your offer, if it still stands." In a heartbeat, his smirk became that rarest of grins, his face lighting up. "It always has. I'm very pleased to hear you say that, Dahlia. Once you're properly healed, we'll make arrangements. That is, after Mr. Dawson is convicted and put away."

She frowned. She hadn't thought about the case in a while. "Yeah…a-are we sure that this guy's it? I mean, what if he isn't the perp?" His smile softened, still just the slightest bit crooked. "I think what you mean is, are _you_ sure Mr. Dawson is the killer?" The bluntness of the question caught her off guard and she stammered, trying to find her verbal footing. "Y-yes, I think…well, there's room for…what I mean is…" He held up a hand to stop her. "Dahlia, this case is not going to be any nearer to completion until you find confidence. If you are not sure, mistakes are more easily made."

Her frown deepened and he leaned forward in his chair, his eyes piercing hers. "Now that this case is so close to the end, you're having second thoughts, aren't you? Wondering if this is really the man you are looking for, what would happen if the real killer happened to be loose while you were wasting time on this one man? You have a strong intuition and a stronger sense of stubbornness, but you shy away from following through with anything because of an overwhelming fear of failure. Your aspirations to be a singer, to follow through at the Academy and become a detective, you've given up because of only one thing: fear. Your father died and you were frightened that somehow your running away had caused it. And then, coming out here against Jack's orders, you decided to give up for fear of consequences; to quit instead of being kicked out, so to speak. And now, so close to the conclusion of something that can either make or break you both as a detective and as a person, you are so near to giving up yet again." Shame dropped like a stone into the pit of her stomach, cold and unpleasantly heavy.

"You know, sometimes I wonder if you know me better than I do…" She smiled faintly, trying not to think about her past failures. He was absolutely right. Something had to be done about this. He chuckled. "I wouldn't be surprised if I did. I think you have a lot to learn about yourself." "I don't doubt that." Her smile rang a little more sincere. Just as she was about to open her mouth again, the sound of boots thundered on the tile of the hall outside. She sat up, looking toward her closed door. "What the hell is going on out there; another car wreck?" She asked, hearing voices yelling next. They didn't sound like normal hospital staff. "Just lie back, Dahlia." Hannibal ordered gently, his gaze never turning from her. He seemed oddly calm, unnaturally so, an anxious cast to his eyes. She obeyed, watching as he picked up the copy of 1984 from where it had been laying on its pages on the bed. Carefully marking the page, he sighed. "It's a shame we never finished…" He muttered, setting the book aside. "What are you talking about?" Dahlia asked, hearing the voices get louder. They were coming nearer. "Do you know what's going on?" Her mind was buzzing, confused and suspicious and frightened all at once. Something bad was happening, she could feel it. "I have to say, this has to have been the most relaxed I can remember being. I can't remember the last time I had anything close to fun that wasn't related to…cuisine. Thank you." He gave her a true smile, lifting his head as the door was kicked in.

Five men in SWAT gear were behind the door, three entering, two watching for anything outside. All were armed, to Dahlia's horror. "Hannibal Lecter, you are under arrest!" One boomed, as if the man sitting beside her were about to run. "Stand up and step away from the bed!" Hannibal closed his eyes, shaking his head in silent ridicule. He stood in his own time, stooping a moment to brush his lips over the younger girl's forehead. Dumb with shock and utterly confused, she watched as he straightened and two men wrestled him into cuffs, the fugitive smiling all the while. "Gentlemen, what's the rush?" He even joked. "It's not as if I'm going to be as imbecilic as to try to escape in such a public place." They muscled him out of the room, but not before he called back to his companion, "Until we meet again, Dahlia. I'm sorry our vacation had to end so abruptly." Before she could even gather her thoughts to speak, he was gone. Several nurses came in to ask about her well-being, only now knowing just who this constant guest was, but she wouldn't speak. She could only wonder about what had happened, what she was to do, and just who had given them away. Suddenly, she felt more alone than she ever felt in her life.


	8. Chapter 7

A/N: I know, it's a little short, but I'm glad that I got this one done. Here we find a little insight into Dahlia's mind since the incident that morning, and we just may see a little maturing from how she was in the beginning. I apologize in advance for the delay in posting, I'm out of my rhythm and my computer's down again. XD But I can still post at school, so here's hoping. Please read and review, I'd love to hear feedback and criticism alike!

Someone had called the authorities at around ten in the morning, Dahlia was to find; they arrived just twenty minutes later. As SWAT took her dear friend away, several normal police officers came in after them: two to guard the door and four detectives. She knew the questions they asked even before they asked them, due to her training, but shock and contempt made her indifferent to their cause.

One, impatient and irritable to be woken at such an early hour for something so serious, was asking her bluntly if she had known that this man was indeed Hannibal Lecter. Without looking at him, she replied that yes, she was always aware of just who he was. Her face was stone, unreadable simply for the fact that not even she knew what she was thinking. She felt nothing but emptiness.

Another, shooting a disapproving look at his associate for his behavior, asked if she had been traveling with him for very long. No, she replied, they had only been traveling for two or three days when the incident happened. She didn't see any need to tell them of hers and Hannibal's previous excursions.

A third, overeager and leaning too close, unleashing a wave of coffee and halitosis-laced breath over her, asked if Hannibal Lecter had been the one to shoot her. At this, she looked over at him, brown eyes cutting like knives, and said as politely as she could manage that no, he had not. She didn't see the shooter, and Dr. Lecter had been standing next to her the whole time. Anything else about that story, and they could ask the kind doctors just outside. She had told them everything.

There had previously been a time when she would shudder to lie to any officer of the law. But now she did so with almost startling ease, leaving out just about any details of what she and Hannibal had been doing together, either on the case or recreationally. Eventually a nurse came to her rescue and shooed the officers out, saying she needed her rest. Turning back to her charge, she smiled kindly. "Do you need anything, Miss Jehan? I'm sorry for all the trouble." Managing a smile, Dahlia shook her head. "No, ma'am, I'm fine. But if you could please crack the window for me, I'd be grateful." The woman's smile faltered a moment, not sure if she was being serious. "A-are you sure? It's still snowing outside..." "Yes, ma'am, I'm sure. It's just stuffy in here."

The window was opened and the nurses left, making sure no police came in after them. Covered by a sheet, two blankets, and wrapped up in a plain black bathrobe that they'd found in the spare bag by the bed–which she assumed was Hannibal's, but she told them it was hers to keep it from being taken as evidence–she let out a soft sigh as a snow-laced breeze washed over her. Watching as the snow made its stiflingly quiet descent, she let her thoughts drift to her friend. Where was he? What had those cops done to him? Who had given them away? The last was easy to guess: the doctor that had stared at him must have recognized his face. A quick phone call and a statement and SWAT would have lost no time in catching the man at large. 'Idiots,' she thought harshly. 'There are worse criminals they need to focus on. They're wasting effort putting a good man away.' She felt drained, physically and emotionally, and desperately wanted her dear friend there for guidance. 'You can handle yourself, Dahlia,' She told herself next, not wanting to be pathetic. 'Haven't you learned anything? Sitting and moping is just an insult to what he's taught you. Think, what are you going to do now?'

She couldn't do much of anything recovering from a through-and-through gunshot wound, that was for sure. But here she was, miles away from anyplace she had ever called home, without a friend in the world to talk to. Try as she might, she couldn't think of anything to help. "Miss Jehan?" She looked up to see one of the nurses poking her head into the room. "There's a Jack Crawford to see you, honey." With a slow blink, Dahlia replied, "I don't want to see him. I don't want to see anyone." "Miss Jehan..." The woman smiled in apology. "I...don't think you can say no. He has a paper saying that he has permission to speak to you." Feeling a headache coming on, the younger girl nodded. "...All right. Let him in, please." With a nod, the woman's head disappeared and Crawford himself walked in, looking a little worse for the wear. The Zodiac case must have been hard on him, she observed, feeling no sympathy. He didn't know the half of it.

"Jehan, I want to start by apologizing. If I hadn't set you to this case, you wouldn't even be here right now." He began awkwardly. She opened her mouth to reply, but he held up a hand for her to remain silent. "And I also just want to say that I shouldn't have set you out there with Hannibal Lecter on the run. He's been known to shadow Quantico before, and I should have known he'd do it again. I'm sorry for any of the trouble he's caused you over how long he's had you under his influence. And I'm also sorry for losing my temper so often with you, but with your insubordination on top of everything else...I lost control." Silence followed his speech, and she let out a soft sigh, not able to allow herself to get angry with him. He simply didn't know. He saw things in black and white, and knew that this way of thinking was right. After a moment, she spoke. "Mr. Crawford...you really have nothing to apologize for. If I hadn't taken this case...quite a few things would never have happened. You're right, I wouldn't be injured, but that isn't all of it. That isn't even close to all of it. I know I have almost no right to ask this, even after all the times I'd gone against orders, but..." She bit her lip, gathering her words. Hannibal was right. She couldn't give up, not now. "But could you please put me back on the case once I'm healed? I've gotten so invested in this, and I'm _so_ close to finding something out. So close, and I just need more time to get to the bottom of it. Please, I promise you won't be disappointed."

A long beat of silence followed her request, and she felt her chest tighten as she suspected that he would deny her. She could still catch him if that was the case, she reasoned, but she couldn't take any credit for it. She'd be blacklisted, and no one would believe her if she tried to tell them otherwise. He took a deep breath, let it out, and spoke at last. "I…shouldn't do this. By all rights, you should have been off the case permanently weeks ago. But I can see something in you, Jehan. Something I used to have myself: hope. Determination. You really want to catch this guy, don't you?" She straightened a little, nodding. "Yes, sir; more than anything." Not true, her mind added, but she pushed it aside. "You heal up fast, Jehan. Get out as soon as you can, and I'll have a plane back to Washington for you. If you can pull this off…" He offered a rare smile, the act seeming slightly haunted. "There may be a letter of recommendation for you to move to detective." She felt a grin split her face and she heard herself saying, "T-thank you, Mr. Crawford, you don't know how much this means…thank you so much." "I think I do." He replied simply, smiling still. He turned to leave, but as he reached the door, he paused. "Lecter's in Maryland, Jehan. I can't remember the name of the institution, exactly, but it's a prison for the criminally insane. Just look up a Dr. Frederick Chilton, you'll find him there. Just in case you want to confront him about what he's done to you."

Not wanting to correct him, she nodded, feeling a wave of gratitude wash over her. "Thank you, Mr. Crawford." She repeated, unable to think of anything else to say. With a nod, he had left again, leaving Dahlia alone with her thoughts once more. This was amazing, she thought, dumbfounded. She could work on the case again, and there was the opportunity to move up in the ranks. No longer a trainee, but a real detective. More than ever, she wished Hannibal were there to share the news. Maryland….it wasn't too far from the Academy, she mused, biting her lip. She had reason for going to visit him, she thought, a small smile slowly making its way to her tired face. To look the man who had "influenced" her in the eyes and ask him why. This Chilton man might find it believable. Maybe with some persuasion, she could get the doctors to release her a little earlier than they wanted, she thought, swept up in her thoughts now. Everything was finally going right. She had a chance. Failure wasn't even a possibility in her mind; she was only focused on the thought of finding Dawson, putting him away, ranking up, but most importantly, seeing her friend again. Another breeze wormed its way into the window as a laugh made its way from her chest. This was only a minor setback. She'd live, and soon, she'd be out again.


	9. AUTHOR'S NOTE 2

All right guys! I just want to thank the longtime readers for putting up with me for so long, and to welcome new ones as warmly as I can. Just...thank you all. Really. It means so much.

On to business, It's close to the five-year anniversary of when I started this idea, and looking back on it... there are parts of my writing I'm not proud of. It's grown just as I have, and through that I think it's time to edit previous chapters to fix things, help it to flow better, and add/remove points due to relevancy. Just bear with me, guys. I hope the finished product turns out better than the original.

The prologue is already edited as much as I can without completely overhauling it and already posted. Hopefully I can get the rest done before the end of the month.

Thanks for reading!


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